A lion among bears
by Ebonclaw
Summary: Laurena is an Imperial with a mission - to infiltrate the Stormcloaks and murder Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. Unfortunately, things doesn't always turn out the way you intended. Oneshot.


**A/N**: I woke up super early this morning and couldn't go back to sleep until I had written this xD  
Enjoy! It's just a oneshot about my OC Laurena - you can read a little about her on my profile, but it's really not necessary to understand this ^^

* * *

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

Ralof's voice somehow managed to pierce the thick darkness around me and after a moment, my eyes fluttered and flew open. The foggy, grey view of mountains greeted me – they were slowly rolling by in front of me, which I found strange until I realized I was sitting in a carriage. Ralof was opposite of me, next to someone I was fairly certain I didn't know, but when I looked to my right my eyes widened. Ulfric Stormcloak himself sat next to me, gagged, but with murder in his dark eyes.

I tried to speak, but all that came out was muffled sounds. I was gagged as well. My hands were bound too, I realized as I looked down.

"We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it," Ralof said, his voice revealing genuine concern, which made me cringe. He looked at me with a wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows.

Forcing myself to ignore him for a moment, I looked beyond the man driving the carriage and saw not only another carriage, but also a small village further up ahead. If I wasn't mistaken, it was Helgen.

The pieces were slowly starting to come together for me.

I was an Imperial. Or I had been. No, I _was_ – ever since I was little I had trained to be able to join them, and I had as soon as I was allowed, as one of the youngest soldiers in quite a while. I had always thought the Empire was strong, righteous, and that their cause was something to fight for. I had always looked up to General Tullius, despite never even actually seeing him.

I always followed my orders as fast and precise as possible – so when I had gotten the mission to infiltrate a Stormcloak camp I had done so without hesitation. I was to stay there until Ulfric Stormcloak arrived – or until we travelled to him – and then I would take the first opportunity I had to murder him. He deserved nothing better, and if his death meant my death as well, it would be just as good. It was a noble cause I would've died for.

At first, I hated the Stormcloaks of that camp with all my might. Ralof, Gunjar… they were nothing but faceless enemies to me – they deserved to die just as much as the traitor they were following. My blood boiled whenever I spoke to them, I could feel my eyes darken whenever I was forced to sit by them at the fire at night, and whenever I had to help them pull out an arrow from a wound I had to fight not to drive it further in, twist it and make them cry out in pain. I hated myself for pretending to be one of them – the sight of myself in their blue gear made me want to throw up.

During those nights when we sat by the campfire, I would shut out their talk and disappear into a quiet little world of my own. However, I found that harder and harder to do.

They were all talking about their families. How much they missed them. How old their children would be when they got back home. How their wives were going to make it without them. How much pain the Imperials had caused them.

They never asked me about my family, though. If they had, I wouldn't exactly have told them that they were one of the richest families in Anvil – and that's saying a lot. No, when I first joined them I had told them I was a Breton, and they bought it without questioning, like the mindless pawns they were. They did ask why a Breton would want to fight for Skyrim, and I simply told them my family had lived there for generations – that we were Nords at heart. They never asked again.

When they spoke of their families and their loved ones, I could hear the longing and the pain in their voices – and I couldn't help but start thinking. I had never been especially close to my family, and I knew they were safe back in Cyrodiil, but if anything was to ever happen to them…

I started feeling sorry for them. I quietly comforted them when they missed their families – I told them women were stronger than you'd think and that they surely could take care of their families on their own. I told them they would come back to their kid one day. I eventually volunteered in helping the wounded and often sat up all night watching over the sickest ones. I laughed with my fellow Stormcloaks as we sat around the fire at night, telling stories.

And then he came. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

The very reason I was there – the very man I had been sent to kill.

Something stopped me from simply running up to him and driving a dagger through his heart – concern for my own wellbeing of course, but something more as well. There had to be a reason they were following him. I had to at least hear him speak, just once, to hear what he had to say. At least let Gunjar and Ralof hear him speak one last time before I sent him to Sovngarde.

But Ulfric never spoke. Not like General Tullius, anyway. Tullius would've arranged a podium, standing up higher than his soldiers and giving them a speech about the glory of the Empire.

Ulfric walked among his soldiers. He asked them about their families; how they were doing and if they needed any support in the form of protection or just some gold. He spoke to the wounded men, reassured the ones who were closest to death and pressed his lips against their foreheads as they drew their final, shaky breaths. When he looked up at me to ask me to arrange their funerals, I could see the pain in his eyes.

It wasn't weakness. It was the signs of a true leader. He cared for his men, every single one of them. He knew the war took lives, and he did everything in his power to prevent that.

I felt drawn to him, more so than I ever had to General Tullius. Ulfric Stormcloak was a true leader, and truly someone to look up to.

And then the ambush had hit us.

Imperial soldiers who apparently had been told Ulfric would be there, but not that I would be there as well. I didn't resist at first when they attacked – I had actually tried to speak to them, convince them that I was on their side, but they didn't listen. When I realized that, my survival instincts took over and I started fighting, killing and wounding several of them before finally being captured. I suppose I should be grateful they didn't just kill me right then and there.

As they bound my hands I tried speaking to them again – quietly, to not make Ralof and the others suspicious – I didn't recognize any of the soldiers, but surely they would see that I was actually an Imperial? Eventually, they seemed to grow tired of my 'lies', and in an effort to shut me up they had given me a hard and unfair blow in the back of my head, making everything darken in front of my eyes.

And when I woke up, I was in the carriage, slowly being taken to my death.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

I looked at Ulfric, who was glaring at the man in front of him. He was going to die as well. I felt a small tug at my heart as I realized this. I didn't want to die. I didn't want _him_ to die either – if I had really wanted to see him dead, I would've killed him as soon as I laid my eyes on him.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion," the unknown man said, obviously surprised. "But if they've captured you… Oh Gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," Ralof said calmly. I looked up at him and met his eyes, and couldn't help but let out a small whine. He gave me a weary smile and told me we'd meet again in in the afterlife, which sent a painful jolt through my heart.

Imperials didn't go to Sovngarde when they died.

As we entered Helgen, the first thing I saw was General Tullius. I had never seen him before, and yet I instantly knew it was him. His golden armor was shining in the morning light, and as he sat on his horse his back was straight and his head held up high – and yet… the gagged and bound Ulfric that sat next to me seemed to be more of a leader than Tullius ever had been.

"This is Helgen," Ralof said, confirming my suspicion. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here… I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He let out a deep sigh. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

I couldn't help but feel the same way. The Empire had always been strong and protective – and now, they were suddenly my enemy. They had taken away my only means of defense – both physically and verbally – and I could do nothing as I was being taken to my own execution. Hopelessness filled my heart, and in my sorrow I couldn't do anything but hang my head and close my eyes to keep the tears from coming.

The carriages eventually stopped and we were forced to get off. The man holding the list started calling out our names, starting with Ulfric. It pained me to see him go towards the block, but at the same time I couldn't help but admire him – his pose and way of walking didn't show off any of the fear I was sure he must've felt.

Ralof seemed to be annoyed by the thief who had been with us, but I knew that if I hadn't been gagged, I would've protested just as much as he did.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" he cried out, and then started running. I couldn't decide whether or not I wanted him to make it, but before he could even get past the first few guards they pierced him with an arrow right in the back. Somehow the guards' action seemed more cowardly than the thief's – hitting a man in the back as he was running for his life.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the woman in charge said, her voice loud and harsh. If I ever wanted to run, that feeling was effectively killed by her cold and unforgiving eyes.

"Wait. You there. Step forward."

My feet moved before my brain had a chance to catch up, and suddenly I was standing in front of the man holding the list. As my eyes met his, a beacon of hope suddenly filled my chest.

It was Hadvar. I was certain of it – this was the same boy I had played with as a child; it was the same teenager I had trained with as a preparation for the Imperial Legion. He had been one of my best friends, and we had sworn to be together forever – or at least until the war separated us.

I opened my eyes wide and silently pleaded that he'd recognize me. I couldn't do anything but let out a few muffled sounds – I was a bit afraid that if I moved, they'd take it as a sign of aggression. I looked straight into Hadvar's eyes after any signs of recognition. He definitely looked surprised, but I didn't know if he recognized me.

I knew I had changed – it was inevitable, especially when in war. A few years back, during a particular close call in a battle between myself and a Stormcloak, I had lost an eye but gained a scar. My sight wasn't as good as it used to be, obviously, but my other senses had grown more accurate as a result, and I was still more than capable in a fight.

"Who are you?" Hadvar asked, but it almost seemed as if he wondered because of personal interest rather than because of the fact that I obviously wasn't on the list. I whined, tears starting to form at the corners of my eyes now, and prayed he'd see who I truly was. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list," he finally said, after he tore his eyes away from me.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."

It was like a deep dark pit opened underneath my feet and I fell down, the blackness surrounding me and drowning out all thoughts but one: I was going to die… True terror engulfed me, and the tears finally started rolling down my cheeks. I was going to die. I was really going to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry. I'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil," Hadvar said, genuine sorrow coloring his voice. I let out a desperate whine – he had seen I was an Imperial but _still_ didn't recognize me? "Follow the Captain, prisoner."

The Captain started walking towards the block, and I had no choice but to follow her. Everyone else was already there, including General Tullius. He was standing right in front of Ulfric, the two of them glaring at each other with dark eyes. I couldn't help but think that Tullius was a coward – if he had been a real man, he would've at least removed Ulfric's gag.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen calls you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric let out what sounded like a muffled curse, and I unconsciously growled as well, but Tullius continued without hesitation. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

There was a deep sound from somewhere – it must've been loud, but it was coming from so far away it was nothing but an echo now. It didn't quite sound like thunder, more like… a roar. Was Ulfric using his Voice somehow?

"What was that?" Hadvar asked, drawing my attention to him again. I stared at him, hoping to catch his eyes, but it was useless – Tullius ordered the execution to continue.

The priestess began her prayer to the Gods, but she was quickly interrupted by one of the Stormcloak soldiers, who apparently couldn't wait for his own death. I admired his courage, but still looked away as his head was severed from his body. I had spent several nights around the fire with him, after all, listening to the stories of his family. Now they'd never see him again.

"Next, the renegade Cyrodiil!" the Captain exclaimed. I only met Ralof's eyes for a brief moment, but saw the surprise in them, before I started moving forward.

My legs felt like lead. Every step I took felt like it lasted for minutes – I could hear my own terrified breathing coming in jagged gasps, and my vision was blurry from tears. I saw the headsman's axe glisten in the sunlight and I was sure I was going to vomit or faint before I could manage to get there. I didn't even hear the second roar, as it thundered between the mountains.

My knees gave in and I collapsed right in front of the block, the smell of blood making me even more nauseous than before. I laid my head down on the block, the blood smearing over my cheek, and looked up at the headsman in front of me. He looked like a terrible harbinger of death, nothing more than a dark silhouette against the sun – and then he raised his axe high, readying himself.

A horrible emptiness swept over me, robbing me of any feelings I had and rendering me into nothing but an empty shell – it was like I had already died and my mind was someplace else. The only thought that ran through my head was that it wouldn't have been so bad to die if I knew I was going to Sovngarde afterwards.

But then a true harbinger of death appeared.

Black as the night, larger than a house, and with flaming eyes burning with the fires of Oblivion.

A dragon.


End file.
